


Strike at the Heart

by Quantum_Reality



Category: Counterpart (TV), Counterpart - Fandom
Genre: Original Character(s), POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 13:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Reality/pseuds/Quantum_Reality
Summary: Tiffany Kronstedt is a researcher studying the Flu's epidemiology ten years after it left its mark on the world. Confronted with what appears to be the truth of the flu's origins, she joins a conspiracy determined to strike at the enemy's heart.





	Strike at the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the Counterpart fandom! Please let me know what you think. This will be multichapter, the exact number not yet determined. Also note that the "Warning" status may change as the story evolves.

Tiffany Kronstedt rubbed her shoulder, wincing as she mentally groused, _stupid vaccination injections – that nurse sucked!_ She then turned to look out the window of the CRJ-100 narrow-bodied airplane carrying her to Paris from London.

_Paris._

A shiver went down her spine as she stared at the lifeless, sterile city below her. No cars on the roads; no people in the streets. Almost a decade after the München Virus had ripped through Europe and spread across the world, France was still under the iron grip of the Ministère de la Santé, the Health Ministry. When Tiffany got news about France on the CBC, invariably she’d see Lionel Jospin making grave remarks about the continuation of the Paris Quarantine Zone restrictions.

She looked across the aisle to Dr. Galtier, her supervisor, who was at the other window seat. The airplane itself was only about half-full, leaving them plenty of room. As well as the two of them, some United Nations WHO officials were travelling along, due to consult with France’s government regarding some new preventative initiatives in health care.

Tiffany looked again at her French phrasebook, intending to continue refreshing her memory about basic conversational French, but set it down when she heard the speaker crackling to life: “ _Attention, passengers! We are now approaching Orly Airport. Please remain in your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will make a further announcement upon landing._ ”

The airport itself, which Tiffany could just spot out the window as they banked around to line up with the runway, was empty of planes. The plane continued to descend, and the buildings began to swiftly whiz by the window as they approached the ground. A few moments later, the plane shuddered as the wheels made contact with the runway, pushing Tiffany forward in her seat as the brakes gripped, slowing the plane to a near crawl.

As Tiffany relaxed back in her seat, she saw that the plane was approaching a movable stairway, flanked by some limousines. She bit her lip and mentally reviewed what she’d been told by a friend who’d been to the United Kingdom recently and had met some French people while there: “ _The British aren’t quite as paranoid as the rest of Europe, so you’ll be transiting through there first as commercial flights to London were restored in 2001. Even so, don’t shake hands, don’t reach towards someone and for God’s sake, make sure you’re standing at least three feet away from anyone else. That’s the French culture these days, and I could swear those bastards are mostly bitter they can’t buss each other on the cheeks all the time anymore._ ”

And now, they were about to debark in France. As the plane came to a halt, the speaker crackled again: “ _Attention, passengers. Your flight attendant will call your seat number when you may debark. Use the hand sanitizer upon leaving; failure to do so will mean immediate deportation. It is now noon in Paris, and the temperature outside is eighteen degrees Celsius._ ”

With that, the older-looking flight attendant, his gloved hands holding the passenger manifest clipboard, began slowly calling out seats (thankfully, thought Tiffany, the CRJ wasn’t that large a plane), and one at a time the passengers rose from their seats and began filtering out, taking extreme care to put their hands in the portable sanitizer standing on a tripod near the corner to the exit door.

As it happened, Tiffany was last off the airplane, and as she stood at the threshold of the staircase leading down to the tarmac, she quickly looked down at herself to make sure her shirt was buttoned, her suit blazer looked okay, and that her pants didn’t have any marks. She looked out across the landscape, observing that it was an overcast, slightly windy late spring day.

Dr. Galtier caught her eye, and she quickly remembered to descend the staircase, all the while quickly glancing around at the deserted airport. She saw some of the limousines peeling off, presumably carrying the WHO officials to somewhere. One limo remained, and near her supervisor stood a tall, black-haired man in apparent middle age. Whereas Dr. Galtier reminded her a little bit of John Hurt, this man reminded her more of Anthony Hopkins – and that wasn’t necessarily a flattering comparison in her view.

Remembering the admonitions from her fellow student, Tiffany cautiously walked the short distance, making sure to stand an arm’s length away from both the stranger and her supervisor. She could see that he wore gloves, and wished she’d thought to ask Dr. Galtier if they should wear them as well (although given the mandatory use of the hand sanitizer machine just before exiting the plane, perhaps it wasn’t a big _faux pas_ ; after all, she hadn’t seen the WHO people putting on gloves either).

The man bowed briefly to her, then began speaking, only raising his voice slightly to be heard over the light wind. “ _Mademoiselle_ Kronstedt, I have been informed you have basic conversational ability in French from your school education in Canada. However, I will proceed in English for your benefit, and you will find many of those who you deal with will also speak it. Your supervisor has also informed me you were not made aware of who would be meeting you on this side – I was not yet sure if there was room in my schedule to handle this personally.”

Tiffany bowed back, taking her cue from his actions, and replied, “ _Merci beaucoup, Monsieur_ …?”

“ _Monsieur le Directeur_ , actually. But I have not yet formally introduced myself. I am Maurice Bradley, the Director of Health Regulation for France, and your supervisor, William, is my nephew.”

Tiffany gulped and gasped, “Sir, I’m—this is an honor—”

Bradley waved his hand negligently. “Think nothing of it. Your project is a worthy one and I will make every effort to see that you find the information you seek.” He turned to the limousine and gestured. “Please, get in. And welcome, such as it is, to Paris.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to **AyalaAtreides** for beta reading and helping with the summary and title :)


End file.
